Waldoboro Sexuality Institute

I just wanted to pass along a great site I found pertaining to the Waldoboro Sexuality Institute, of which our very own Steve Nizer oversees: http://waldoborosi.weebly.com/index.html.

Care Bears Don't Always Care

An interesting photo I "found." 'Nuff said at that.

The Art of Fleeing

Since those beloved 70s disasters flicks--Earthquake, Airport, etc.--fleeing hasn't been done nearly as cool. Check the rest at: http://blog.moviefone.com/2006/05/03/cinematical-7-pre-poseidon-guide-to-70s-disaster-flicks/. Now within one week, fleeing has been re-defined for the iPhone app generation. That's right, not that generation with 2g phones endorsed by, in retrospect, really creepy minimalist art deco (I don't even know what that is), but a new generation with apps that can buy apps. That is app-licious. Without turning this into an article about fleeing from Apple or a bad girl Eve having a 10g in Eden, let's get back to that constant tease: what fleeing am I f@$!ing talking about?

First of all, there has been all this Wisconsin backwater bull with the demoncats fleeing the state. Union workers want to keep the right to negotiate. When we made the constitution, we negotiated the little bits and morsels and cooked up this America we now see today. But, whoops, we kept the thing on the stove too damn long. And we're burned. Burned out too. Then came Wisconsin. Wisconsin is like a bad dessert after you've been scraping off that burned shit on the corner of your rye toast when you let the cheddar combust instead of simmer. The trouble, dare I say curse, of this country is catering to the people who negotiate. Did King George III negotiate? No, he did not. He threw our asses to the wolves and sent us on a mission to f&#$ over Native Americans by getting a racial minority to actually think the word Native is PC. That is cold of Georgie Boy, but it got the job done. In that rare case, we didn't flee. They did. And, by the way, can you imagine Rush Limbaugh and the royals together? No, I cannot. I like my divas on separate continents. But I digress from my digression.

And just this morning, I read on CNN about why Americans are fleeing Libya. That's right. The article couldn't be about American's fleeing Libya. It is about "why" Americans are fleeing. Why implies there is some reason to stay, as if in this post-common sense world we have to justify leaving to make sure, you know, we're PC in doing so: http://www.cnn.com/2011/OPINION/02/25/tekbali.libya.evacuation/index.html?hpt=C1. I can't see one possible reason to stay in that country, save if you want to watch Gadhafi go into apoplexy the way his father did when he gave birth to Gadhafi in that bunker back in the 40s. Can you imagine if the Brits ran a title "Why did Jews flee Germany"? I don't think media back in the Nazi Dark Ages would throw little veiled pokes at their Semite readers -- did you really, really, think about how your fleeing Germany would make the Germans feel about themselves?

In further fleeing news, on Cuban Broadcasting Company, the cigar might be extinguished for good: http://www.aintitcool.com/node/48632. That's right. Charlie Sheen's magnum opus might be over on the family friendly network. I guess the studio heads figured icing the deal with a cuban and a line off a prostitute was just recreational. A once a week handshake of a different sort. Instead, it was a sign of things to come. I didn't hate the show, but wasn't its biggest fan either. What I'm scared of now is how many more crime shows CBS can muster in its line up. I hear they're going to pilot with one starring Minnie Driver. She can bust produce vendors, and do an impression of her Goodie Will co-star saying "How bout them apples?" No, I'll pass. I'll frankly flee from that show the same way anyone with a heart should from MTV's Skins. What remains is the question of whether CBS can come up with another show with a c, i, and s in the title. I mean, there they had CSI. Then CSI Miami. Then CSI New York. Then NCIS, which I've heard pronounced NCSI. So how about SIC, Specialized Interrogation and Communication. A show about figuring out a better way to say "Can you hear me now?" You in Afghania, in the service, and need a cell phone call stat? Call SIC and they're there. SIC also does wiretaps and rescues senators from Manchurian Candidate situations where radio waves are involved. So SIC really is the next best thing - a technological thriller procedural that respects and supports the armed services and can also spawn cheapie episodes with some douchebag looking into a computer monitor like I am right now. If being that douchebag entitles me to union standard pay, I'm in.

And with that, we're back to unions. That's right. I guess those guys might have, *cough*, been right. We're burned, battered, over saturated like Arod with CDiaz and that bag of popcorn, and we're Americans. And we should keep those unions we fled years ago to get. We're Americans and we're proud to be the fleeing type, because if there's one thing this nation does, it flees with the best of them. Right down to fleeing from England, we know how to get moving when it counts. And that makes me- *fleeing from Steve Nizer for not writing a column in a month*.

Until next time, my fleeting and fleeing readership.

Bubbly Bigotry: Pepsi Max Edition

I drink Pepsi Max. Whoa. I was even drinking Pepsi Max during the Super Bowl to get a nice little caffeine buzz going. I mean, those 70 odd mg's of caffeine really help the football focus. So, anyway, there I am drinking this 70 mgs of caffeinated Pepsi Max goodness when there's a commercial about an angry black woman "accidentally" assaulting a white woman with a Pepsi Max while "innocently" attempting to domestically assault her beau into good dietary practices. This commercial is just not offensive, it is dangerous. I mean, first of all, is there a hidden vibe that black men cannot be with white woman, or said white woman will take a Pepsi Max to the torso? Secondly, how is it okay that men take abuse from women in this ad? As many on Youtube point out (a natural reservoir of untapped social commentary if you can get past the gay jokes and rampant geeking), if these roles were reversed and a man was throwing a Pepsi Max at his wife, it would be WRONG for a) suggesting hitting a woman is funny and b) suggesting that the woman should lose weight to please her man. But men are fatasses, so this is all good. And yes, I really just did do the PC argument even after my past rants.

I'm on my meds and I'm drinking a Diet Coke, so I'm running on more energy and goodwill than the whole internet was after each Sunday's Mully-Sculder will they bone or won't they sex flame war (EST 1995-2001). None of this is maximumly exciting, except the whole Mulder Scully sex farce bit and maybe the whole 0 carbs bit. And if you don't agree and actually think this ad was awesome, well you're a bad person and will burn in hell. And if you are an atheist, you will not get air conditioning this next summer. And finally, why is the in-shape black man getting yelled at for his diet in the first place? He looks like he could out run his wife, with enough time to spare to run to the Burger King and have it his way. So I'm guessing diabetes isn't the problem, or the Pepsi Max might not be the Holy Grail to imbibe with such gusto and *insert witty, condescending word here*.

And lastly, not all black women are violent and sassy. Yeah, sure, I find a sassy black woman has the potential to be funny. Don't we all? The same way Rosanne or a Tonka truck has the potential to be funny. And while we're at it, let's TRADEMARK "SASSY BLACK WOMAN (TM)" for a weekly comic strip. It might even be less repetitive than the jokes in Dilbert! But in the case of Pepsi Max, it isn't how much Sassy Black Woman you show, it's how psychopathic you make her. This Sassy Master drove her man to drink (Pepsi Max), assaulted a white woman, put her dietary values on others with violence, and fled a crime scene all in a very short window. Even in GTA San Andreas, it is difficult to screw the pooch that much in such a short window. I almost spit up the Pepsi Max, and not in a good sort of way. I'm pissed. And I haven't been drinking (for a change). Angry TV Maven out.

Celeb Showdown #1: Ryan Murphy vs. The Arcade Fire

"They’re not good people, that’s it." Vincent Moon uttered these harsh words in an interview when asked what happened to the Arcade Fire (http://www.eyeweekly.com/music/interview/article/110254). The band started as an indie juggernaut, lulling the hipsters into a fall sense of superiority. But now that they and their fans have been wearing those all-too-tight-jeans for seven years post-Funeral, circulation is finally starting to stop. And when you can't wiggle and jiggle, you become a tad prickly. I guess that's what Moon felt. Add the label "sellout" to their increasing ability to rival Adam Sandler assholedom, and you've got a indie diva hit squad ready to pump out the mediocre mellow mashups over and over. Let's put these douchebags in the right hand corner laddies and gentlemen.

And in the other corner, you have diva Ryan Murphy, the creator of Glee and Nip/Tuck! BOO! As he gets hyped up on pcp, Murphy raves that Kings of Leon wouldn't appear on his sellout creation Glee. "Fuck you, Kings of Leon" warbles Murphy, wondering if he was clever enough with his ripostes that the far classier and witty band might appear on his shit show (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/26/kings-of-leon-vs-glee-nathan-followill-fires-back-at-ryan-murphy-in-homophobic-rant_n_814351.html). Glee, as Steve Nizer pointed out, is the type of show where Ryan Seacrest would fit in like dick in glove. Nip/Tuck was the start of this decent into melodramatic overkill. The surgeries, the drugs, the surgeries, the drugs. Wait, did I repeat myself? Sorry, I was trying to flirt with my shrink and got distracted. Anyway, Glee is self-indulgent, if not mildly enjoyable. And Ryan Murphy is the flamboyant supernova that explodes regularly, disintegrating all the decency around him on a weekly basis. Hallelujah.

So now that the both of our contestants are firmly douching it up in their disrespective corners, let's get these two misunderstood artists rumbling for the fun of mankind. That's right. Another reality show about a self-absorbed band past their prime and a gay showrunner who rumbles and tumbles if an autistic 10 year old gives him a funny look. They live together in a homeless shelter cum soup kitchen, doing the decency for the lowly commoners while behind the scenes they bitch about the conditions, and more importantly, each other. The winner gets to leave first and get back to making overrated crap. The other, *shiver*, has to stay until a celebrity jury made up of former reality tv stars determines that they have learned at least one important life lesson. It's terrible, it's degrading, it's educational. And it's great tv. Maybe not HBO. But HBO kinda is sucking ever since they cancelled Rome. Bastards.

Lears of War!

Face it, we live in an increasingly video game oriented culture. But our schools are stuck in the past, like the crazy old badger down the street still listening to his Elvis LPs like it was 1959. If we are going to beat the Chinese (at what, I don't know), we have to get better than ever at designing an educational system that relates to our kids, no matter how bizarre a place that takes us. Steve Nizer and myself, along with a trained group of NASA monkeys, got together to brainstorm and focus group video game / literacy best practices. Many hours and Subway meatball subs later, we upgraded our list of potential titles from alpha to beta. In these hallowed next few lines potentially rests the future of American education:

Mass Inflect - You star as Commander Shepard, a space faring marine charged with saving the galaxy. But you have a terrible stutter, much like Colin Firth playing King George IV. The twist is that you actually speak decently with aliens, such as the Asari and Krogan. But with your fellow humans, you're a verbal basketcase. Enter a series of minigames that teach you the self confidence to inflect those r's and g's with such authority, such élan, that the entire galaxy will take notice. And you might just save the world, because you didn't stutter during that all important speech. If not, the Reapers might reap our asses. You better get on that whole saving the galaxy bit, in Mass Inflect!

Read Space - Nothing sucks more than finding an entire mining colony in space was overrun by a group of illiterate hacks. And the key this time around isn't death and destruction, it's teaching the Necromorph savages their t's and i's. Hell yeah! In the gory and grim Read Space, you are Isaac Clarke, an homage to Isaac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke. But even with such literary roots, Isaac struggles to teach the bloodthirsty hoard their abc's. As the player, you must use your literary air rifle to shoot words such as "donkey" and "asshole" at the Necromorphs, or else you might find yourself illiterate too!

Lears of War - Once students become accustomed to the grind of games such as Mass Inflect and Read Space, Lears of War is the next natural step. The Bard needs a good video game to teach us his works. You play as the uneducated fool Marcus Fenix, who has only picked up a book once, and only bothered to do so because he ran out of bullets and needed a blunt object to bash over a Locust's head. In Lears, Fenix must use the teachings of the Bard when his decision to divide his firearms collection between his three squadmates leads to jealousy and potential destruction at the hands of the Locusts. A brief bit in the game also has you looking for puzzle clues in frames from the film Throne of Blood, the Kurosawa masterpiece every school kid should watch in his or her spare time. That or Adam Sandler's collective works -- genius, like a puck to the groin.

Red, Read, Retention - Well, if you made it to high school, you know retention is ever so important. With the online SAT software Red, Read, Retention, you'll be learning vocabulary like no other. As John Marston, you wander the desert searching for your former outlaw gang. This time, the key to victory is coming across literate enough to convince local towns people you aren't a former outlaw. When you do convince them, they either sign up to help fight the bad guys, or give you the locations of treasures, etc. This all leads to a showdown with Bill Williamson, where you must defeat your former gang pal by outsmarting him with fancy vocabulary, like antediluvian and Sacajawea dollar.

Bioclock - Since we're in high school, let's get that uncomfrotable sex ed class out of the way with Bioclock. In the game, you learn of the horrible effects of aging, and why if you're going to have kids, might as well be before the age of 60, cause it ain't going to happen after that. The story includes Ayn Rand and Andrew Ryan getting it on in their 70s, and the ultimate horror that results. I know those Viagra commercials are tempting, but sometimes just leave procreation to the professionals: 40 somethings and younger.

Statman: Arkham Arithmetic - You star as Statman, a caped crusader struggling with his sexuality who must defeat the Smoker. As Statman, you team up with Radius, a mathematician who likes Michael Jackson tunes and watching reruns of Captain Planet in those tight spandex. Together, you must figure out enough word problems to gain the support of the Gotham Stat Department and ultimately smoke out the smoker. The game, besides teaching kids math, is a poignant exercise in understanding the addictiveness of cigarettes, and why all the great American Smoke Out needs is one superhero: you!

Call of Duty: Modern Workfare - The one trouble with our video game list thus far is the lack of real social issues and commentary. In my mind, nothing pisses off more than welfare. C'mon, why pity these poor bastards who can't get by because of the military and prison industrial complexes? We got more complexes than Freud could whoop on our asses, and these whiny little poor stricken masses keep wanting help. Well, like any good educational system, it is our job to teach our kids not to pity them, but to be angry with those penurious pleasure seekers. Enter Call of Duty: Modern Workfare. In the game, you play as some character or another, I never can tell who, dealing with Ozark poor people when the country is invaded by the Australians. Unlike past Call of Duty games, this is pure realism. Great set pieces include No Grits, No Glory being invaded, where you play as the redneck cook, and a hunt for sasquatch, who actually contracts for the CIA as a liaison to DOD.

Unstarted: Drake's Misfortune - Drake didn't go to college, and spends his time chasing the world for treasure and a lovely girl named Elena. But he doesn't have a steady job or a wife, so he fails the American Educational Litmus Test (patent pending). Enter the player, who must jump and riddle him or herself to a more satisfying outcome: a pension, stable home with a stable wife on Prozac, and a college degree that doesn't do shit. Every time you get a treasure or the girl, the game erases your save and force quits you to the main menu. But if you choose to go to college and take classes in-game, your progress saves and you get gamer points!! This teaches you that having fun and adventure is just a path towards misfortune. So don't be "unstarted" in your college search, be proactive!

Assassin's Read - If going to college ends up not being an option, the military has positions open in all sectors. But, as recent studies have show, many of its applicants are not reading at a reasonable benchmark. Enter Assassin's Read, a video game designed to teach prospective soldiers to multitask between their soldiering duties and linguistics like the snap of a finger, or flash of a muzzle. Play as Ezio, the deadly assassin who has self esteem issues because he can't figure out all this freakin' Latin bullshit.

The future of American Education awaits you: video games for your child's education!! Next week: Steve Nizer learns to read and the world is a better place!!

Holy Crap Batman!

Bruce Wayne... err... Raffaello Follieri... and Anne Hathaway

Well today we all learned that Tom Hardy will be Bane in the finale of Christopher Nolan's Batman Trilogy. Great... he is a fantastic actor. No Holy Crap Batman there. But it is also reported that Anne Hathaway will take over as Catwoman. Meow indeed. Hathaway is known for her work getting owned by Merryl-I-can-act-and-you-can't-bitch-Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. But it must have been Brokeback Mountain that got Nolan to really notice her while he was brushing up on Ledger's cowboying.

So celeb casting, has this blog come to this? Kind of. The real story here is about an ever increasing and truly disturbing trend in the casting of the Batman franchise. Almost more disturbing than the Joker's chuckle, but just almost.

First of all, let's note that Batman is the ultimate canvas for art imitating life. A billionaire becomes a supernatural cape crusader, and his surreal new persona reflects his dark past. The "bat" is downright gothic, edgy. Just like Bruce Wayne's perception of the world. Oh he may say this mask is supposed to inspire fear in the enemy, but it is just as much his expressionistic f'ed up view of the world put to mask. In other words, the fury and fear that Batman conjures up derives not from of the idea of bats, but from the broken and battered expression of Bruce Wayne himself. Well, whoop de do you're probably saying. And I might too. But here, the film version of the Bat takes this notion of art imitating life to the next level. Casting Anne Hathaway is yet further proof. Hathaway has a criminal past of sorts. Her longtime boyfriend Raffaello Follieri committed fraud and laundered money, before ultimately being caught in 2008. As this blog's benefactor, the esteemed Stephen Nizer the III, points out, how could Hathaway not know about his criminal enterprise? I understand that evil sometimes skates by unnoticed. But he committed a bit more than adultery, right? He stole. He acted like a frickin' Gotham criminal, somewhere on the evil-o-meter between, say, Scarecrow (not that scary) and Croc (well he bites, in a good way). So plenty evil enough to be noticed by his feline fatale. And yet she stuck around, in all likelihood purrrrrfectly content not saying anything. She loved the fake Raffaello Follieri, affording her styles straight out of The Devil Wears Prada shoot. Loved his fake ass much like Catwoman loves her some bat suit latex. Bruce Wayne? Pffft. Where's the thrill in hitting that when you got your bat bib on and are ready to go? But I digress. Hathaway is great for the role. She probably has the slight criminal background covered, or at least knows how to look the other way. And her love for the bat... well just look at Follieri... looks a lot like Bruce before he stopped being all domestic. So definately life imitating art the whole way. This shouldn't be too hard for Hathaway, and props to Nolan for finding someone who won't have a hard time method acting this bit.

So how about some other examples to prove my theory? I don't like having to prove anything, but I guess I should so I might bring a bit of credibility after my recent f-ups. (Remember, Nizer hasn't lifted my swear embargo, so I'll be saying f-him for the time being instead of more colorful repartee and the like.) So here goes:

Batman: Christian Bale is a talented actor, but acting like the angry Bat is hardly a stretch. A few years back he is rumored to have flipped out and got into an abusive rumble with his sister and mother. Or some family members, maybe a distant uncle or cousin? Either way, when the Caped Crusader blurts out "WHERE ARE THEY!?!?!?!?!?!?" you know this is vintage Bale. Probably had a little Chardonnay and Vodka Martini, went out there, belted out the inner Bale, and boom, there is the bat. Great filmmaking, and an even greater little Smirnoff ad waiting to happen.

Bane: Tom Hardy is a nice guy it seems. Great in Inception breaking balls. Plenty of winking at Levitt and Page's little flirtatious pirouettes. So wouldn't the bad-ass Bane be questionable for such a charmer? I can see Hardy as a Hugo Strange. But Bane?! After visiting http://www.celebritygenius.com, it all became clear. Hardy has been hanging out with Lindsay Lohan. The bane of our existences. A bad pun for sure, but we all know where this is headed. Hanging out with Lindsay is the perfect way to prep for the part. What way to rage more than by hanging out with a Lohan?

Joker: Well, it isn't nice to go there, but let's look at Heath Ledger as the Joker. The Joker was a real psycho... the type of guy that you would swear was a pill popper. And I guess Ledger wasn't the most stable in his life, sorry to say. It was sad to see him end his life, whether intentional or not, in such a sad way. A really talented guy, who Nolan knew skirted too close to the edge. So naturally, casting the manic depressant as Joker was casting genius. Honorary Academy Award genius.

Rachel: Katie Holmes plays the character in the first movie, before disappearing in the second. I guess this poof into oblivion mimics her Hollywood career.

Alright, so another mean column from a man about as far in the continental US from Hollywood as possible. But when you've got a hero like Ricky Gervais, you have to act on your impulse to attack a celebrity. In all seriousness though, doesn't this art imitating life in these Batman movies seem eerily true? If not, I guess my batting percentage will be even lower. But more than anything, isn't this whole thing unhealthy? I mean let's look at the track record of the cast members above: Hathaway has a convict for an ex, Bale has anger management issues worse than Jack Nicholson, Heath Ledger left us, Hardy is shacking up with a fresh out of rehab Lohan, and Katie Holmes is more noted as the surrogate of the scientologist's future grand poobah than as an actress. Talk about a broken and battered cast. And talk about a great movie franchise. Nolan is an evil genius.

Glee: Principal Seacrest

Glee is an absurd mix of improbable plot developments, political correctness, and celebrity cameos. While the show actually used to be fairly decent, it now serves as a weekly reminder of America's torturous decline. Much like the characters, the show is shallow. But not all is lost. I think Ryan Seacrest would be a great addition to the show.

In this new plot twist, the current principal on the show (some Indian guy) suddenly drops dead. His replacement is Ryan Seacrest, a young and idealistic administrator from a neighboring school district. Despite his overt friendliness, Seacrest has a terrible secret. He installs cameras into the men's locker room and secretly watches his fellow faculty members shower. He also installs a gloryhole at the local Arby's. To cover up his personal lifestyle, Seacrest gives money to the local Republican Party.

At the end of the season, he mistakenly tapes Sue Sylvester, the girl's cheering coach. She finds his camera and confronts him. Under severe duress, he admits his secret to her. She then blackmails him in exchange for whatever she needs. On the season finale, Principal Seacrest resigns his post and takes a new job. It's as Charlie Sheen's personal assistant/sober driver.

Ryan Seacrest would be excellent in this role. He wouldn't even have to act.

Three Entertainment Trends in 2010

I meant to put up a pic of Black Swan, but managed

to f&@! up and upload Black Shawn from Rescue Me instead.

Steve Nizer notified me this afternoon that my columns are bleak, uncalled for, and most importantly, hurting web traffic. I responded with some choice phrases. He with a few of his own. I threw a chair. You get the idea. Anyway, short story long, he tells me he has some blackmail on me. So until I go all stealth on his ass and steal back the... *cough*... you'll be privy to some boring ass lists, mundane observations, and New York Jets jokes. Again, not that interesting. Yawn. But I will try, and in the meantime, here are some things to keep you busy while trying to escape this boring column:

Ebert says this is not, and cannot, be art.

1) Video games can be art. As a film history buff, I was shamed to see an icon condemn an industry with such pettiness. That's right: Roger Ebert said video games cannot be art. Computer games were always a treat as I grew up, but following graduate school, purchasing a PS3 and XBox360 alerted me to the dawn of a medium much akin to the transition from silent to sound cinema. That's right: video games are transcending their initial clunkiness and are beginning to take the place of cinema outright. This year, I have had the privilege this year to play games with fantastic sense of place, rich textures, even richer stories, and breathless freedom. Mass Effect; Uncharted; Red Dead Redemption; Assassin's Creed; Gears of War. Yet calling them games is part of the trouble. Ebert notes that because these games are controlled by players, they are ever-shifting experiences and thus cannot be art. But these are not just simulations or reenactments of life: they are artistic statements of ideology and philosophy that guide players to a greater message or theme. Take Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2's mission that involved shooting civilians. An American soldiers masquerades as a Russian to infiltrate a terrorist organization. One of the initial tests involves killing an airport full of innocent Russians. Without spoiling any of the plot, this mission pushes the player to consider his or her actions. To continue, he or she must kill innocents. The drive to "survive" the experience pushes the player. Whereas many would tune away from a film posing such questions, the drive to complete the experience and to achieve full immersion compels players to continue. This desire to become immersed makes video games the most efficient medium for delivering complex ideas. It is a trojan horse medium: what appears a very simple and banal package actually has immense hidden potential and power. No wonder they are so popular: despite their graphical splendor, they are not showy. This past year, Ezio in Assassin's Creed and John Marson in Red Dead Redemption were the broken men forced to make tough choices. Film had nothing on them. And we were there making those choices hand-in-hand. Behind the idea of "mere" immersion, these "games" pull their rich puppet strings with such authority. And while consciously we don't always notice these strings, subconsciously, we're the one's pulling them thanks to the meticulous scenarios and artistic integrity video game makers put into their craft. Ebert, before he passes, should take the plunge. He might not have been born at the advent of film, but he is not too late to get in at the ground floor of the medium of the 21st Century.

Tough, smart, independent, and not a bitch.

Agent Dunham.

2) TV Standouts: Fringe beats Mad Men. Quality television hit its hayday in the early and mid 2000s. Many critics bemoaned the end of quality. Sure, Battlestar, the Wire, and the Sopranos are off the air. But let's not forget what is working. Everyone knows Mad Men. But few truly, truly understand its nuance. If you've watched a few episodes, you might as well not have watched it at all. Get in there and watch all 52 episodes, everyone of them is worth it. This is a show about the little things, and missing an episode pretty much throws off the viewer to the show's rich tapestry. I credit the show with having enough faith in its audience to pay attention to the power of a glance; the pangs of a slip of infidelity. And because of this faith and trust in its audience, I look forward to continuing to watch Don well into the future. But, besides the cliche of crediting Mad Men, I have to say my favorite show of the year is Fringe. Since the beginning of the series, Anna Torv has led a fantastic ensemble cast with a quiet, fierce reserve. And some have criticized her and her character, Agent Olivia Dunham, for this silent strength. Many stuck in the female stars of yesteryear need a bubbly woman. They need flirtations and showy clothes. Agent Dunham wears drab clothing. She is intense. Her heart is buried deep down, not on her sleeve. And because of these qualities, not despite them, she is the toughest protagonist, male or female, I have ever seen on tv. No matter what life throws at her, which is a lot after three seasons, she is there fighting. At the show's start, Torv's performance was criticized for being so sterile and cold. In retrospect, she did what was asked of her: she was the character. In its third season, the show adds a second dimension to its sci-fi toolbox. On the otherside is another Agent Dunham, the same biologically, but having different life experiences. With this other Agent Dunham, Torv shows her true colors: she is one of the best actresses on tv. She can do bubbly, and she can do cold. And man oh man, can she act. And the show, well, let's not sell it short: it is the best on tv. Production values, story-telling, acting stable--all top notch. JJ Abrams found popularity with Lost, but he found his high-mark with Fringe. It moves to Fridays at 9 on January 21st, so catch it and tell a friend or two. Also of note: Supernatural, Damages, and Chuck. Fun genre to Tivo or whatever you do to get your tv kicks.

Juno got Inceptioned a second time.

3) Movies that impressed. While this year, both critically and financially, had a down tick from the previous few years, a handful of films made the year worth it. For most filmgoers, Inception appears to be the choice for best film. While I ultimately would give the movie 5 stars, it tried so hard to be different past that necessarily being a good thing. This is what makes it pale in comparison to Nolan's work on the Batman series. Where those two films knew they were genre and perfected the concept, Inception spends more time building its film identity from scratch. While this makes it profound beyond belief, it also leaves it with a few structural warts and a protagonist that is an afterthought. Let's talk about Leo. Compare his lead character to the ones found in the year's other best films, Winter's Bone and Black Swan. Both films have a protagonist that must make sacrifices and tough choices like Leo, but achieve greater ends because they compel the viewer. Leo's character lacks humanity, a Kubrick residue, while Bone and Swan have heart beneath their chilly subject matter. And both films succeed because we care about the trials of their heroes (or anti-heroes). Inception, on the other hand, is more concerned with side characters. Critical praise points out Page and Gordon-Levitt as standouts, but mainly ignores DiCaprio. I believe he did a great job, but his lead is superficial compared to those in Winter's Bone and Black Swan. But... look what I'm talking about: Inception. I guess despite these supposed problems (at least compared to my other two faves this year), it is the film everyone, including me, is talking about. And that says something. It is impressive, warts and all. Too bad the Oscars are bound to fall to The Social Network, a fun movie more concerned with being cool than making any sort of real, lasting statement. So check out all three, if you get a chance, and the Social Network as well, if you want to see what will win best pic.

2011 promises to be a great year, but before jumping in, make sure you appreciate 2010 fully. Video games came of age, great tv continued its winning streak, and a few movies really impressed. And what more can you ask for? Well, me being truly vulgar again. But the ball is in Steve Nizer's court, and until he let's up, there won't be any ball jokes anytime soon. Balls!

Get Over It: State of the Nation

Well, when Steve Nizer recruited me as both a drinking buddy and fellow blog poster, we rose a glass, and swore that we wouldn't make this political. Even if tanks rolled right on through the pristine byways of our rural American towns, this wasn't political. Even if Sarah Palin started wrestling alligators, you got it, this wasn't f****** political. Unfortunately, everyone in America from Rush to the guy listening to Rush at the local indie Record store made it political. So, how do I have a choice but to make it political? I haven't wanted to do this. I never wanted to even know what politics were. I wanted to be a guy. Just a guy. A guy with a dream; a dream that doesn't include nattering radios and twinkees with health advisory warnings. If I wanted to go hunting, as my grand pappy didn't teach me, nor his father before him, I could have done it. But not now. So is this about Arizona? Nah. This is about more than a border state that gets more than its share of headlines. I'm just tired of the politics. Like a Junior Mint lodged in your throat, I'm just tired of it and want it to go away. This is about just being tired. Tired of being mad. Tired of being tired. Tired of thinking about being tired. Tired of using the word tired. Tired of a tired metaphor.

So am I mad about any of this? Not really. I am just indifferent. I am but a small clam in a big sea. A football player on a playing field bigger than himself. A opera singer without an audience. We are in a state of Sean Penn nuance and O'Bama Care. Humor is not as funny anymore, so I must resort to self parody and mocking Steve Nizer. Bread and butter, for sure. But where is the fun? Where are the thrills? I could pull out rednecks. Prostitutes. Clam cakes. More Steve Nizer jokes. But these one liners are only funny in the childish way You've Got Mail pokes fun at Baby Gaps. These jokes were funny in the 90s. When humor was embraced and Bill still had a sex life. And then, LeBron left Cleveland. And the innocence left my heart. My vanilla sundae had melted.

Alright, before everyone thinks this post is designed to be sad: it's not. But honestly, can we all please, please get over being depressed about ourselves? The rich always fear they lead vain lives. The poor always worry about NASCAR and that they are poorer than their neighbor. And you? Well, you're reading this blog, which immediately qualifies you for the psych ward or a carton of Ben and Jerry's. By nature, we are all worried, cynical, and malcontents from time to time. And that is what makes us human. And those of us who can laugh at all of it, figure the dumb shit is, well, dumb? They find the auld lang syne, the days of glory: the 90s and a pint of Chunky Monkey. The days when Pulp Fiction and Con Air were a staple, not a dying breed. The days when being a fat ass eating ice cream, was OKAY. And with our Travolta and Cage Face Off complete and our BJ reference taken care of, let's have a pleasant chuckle. A guffaw. We'll get through the dumb shit. I guarantee it. This nation needs to chill out, raise a glass, and fu-get-about-it. And in the name of taking the first step towards this lofty goal of not giving a shit, I take back what I said: just like when Steve Nizer and I raised our glasses, this still isn't political. This is life. Enjoy it. And watch 90s movies with a pint. Or beer or ice cream. Your choice.

The New Batchelor

All of these dating shows like the "Batchelor" follow a tried and true premise. Have a group of money-grubbing whores compete for the attention of a random guy who looks like a male model. I say, put more emphasis on the random and less on the good looks.

Gather a group of women together and tell them that the winner will get to marry Carson, a billionaire race car driver who loves helping orphans and saving the rainforest. Pass around bogus pictures of an underwear model and tell them Carson will not meet them, but he will be observing their every movement.

As the season wears on, the "ladies" get a few brief, tantalizing glimpses of their object of desire. Carson leaves them presents, a gold watch here, a new ring there. At the show's finale, the lucky winner gets to meet Carson. Naturally excited, she enters into his bedroom to meet her new prince.

When she enters, she sees a big fat man laying shirtless on a bed. He offers her pork rinds and a beer. The show's production crew then reminds her of her contractual obligation to marry "Carson". She is also informed that all the presents she received are now being repossessed.

The man she saw earlier in the season was a male model paid to prance outside. Naturally, he's gay and is disgusted by women. Although strangely, he finds Carson's natural style refreshing.

Church of the Goat

This week, a new reality show following the Church of the Goat premieres on, natuarlly, Fox. Make sure to drink your virtual Irish coffee in celebration. Located in the Indiana city of Terre Haute, the Church of the Goat is a new faith-based church built upon the tenants of cooperation, wisdom, and community. Founded by internet pioneer Billy Gruff, the Church of the Goat also believes deepy in the power of digital prayer and faith-based social networking. Father Gruff, a native of Indiana, grew up on a family farm and learned to appreciate the peace and tranquility that the Lord above bestowed upon his father's herd of goats. The church, with much financial support by Father Gruff, is based upon Renaissance designs, and includes a holy moat honoring the epic battle between good and bad goat in the year of our father. As the founding practioner, Father Gruff uses his tax sheltered church as an opportunity to sermonize on the following ideals:

Thou shall not gloat.

Thou shall not dote.

Thou shall not smote.

Thou shall not proselytize by rote.

Thou shall not vote (democratic).

Thou shall not build with cheap sloat.

Thou shall watch Fox, in the absence of Goat-based tv.

The holy father of the show, Father Gruff, bestowed the following in anecdotes throughout the first episode: Subtext of the official holy writings do not connote spirituality. They are spirituality incarnate. We are the goat, have he unto us. We are the goat followers, be they strong. We are the goat, for he never leave us barren or left to ground. We shall eat the oat, for the goat says it is good. For we shall not boat evil to the enemy, for the enemy is but bloat to the goodness in our hearts. For sayeth the mighty goat, we shall rise. And be whole. Thou shall eat the flesh of shoat, but not goat, for the holy mother doth not promote thy goat for such practition. Thou shall read thy scriptures of thy goat father and mother, not thy apocrypha of the Haggadoth. Thy herd shall wear with pride the redingote in thy cold and thy warm seasons, for less or more would be an insult to the goat. And finally, thy shall not scape thy goat when thine will is forfeit. For thy goat mother and father is but a vessel for goodness, not goodness in certain. We shall pray they goat in thy tweets and thine words, but thy, more than ever, shall keep thy goat close to thine hearts. For sayest the goat mother, in our goat year, two-thousand eleven.

Since obviously this is all insane, next column I will be doing a more stable piece. If you have any, any, and I mean, ANY ideas... please tell me. I'm struggling here, and the goat doesn't seem to be helping. Shit.

Nic Cage: Fan Reality

For millions of Americans, Nicolas Cage remains a hero and an inspiration. His god-like talents have earned him a loyal following. This is the perfect set up for a new show.

Traveling around the country, producers from TLC or some other horrendous network can find his "biggest" fans. The show can visit pig farms in Arkansas, apartments in Miami, and rehab facilities in California. Once these "fans" are found and sorted, they will compete for Cage's attention.

The season finale ends with the winner (a single mother from Oklahoma) getting to meet Cage in a dinner. She's presented with a Wal-Mart rolex and a box of his pubic hair.

Clawed

If reality television has proven anything, it's that some people will do anything for fame and fortune. There's nothing wrong with an entrepreneurial spirit, but most normal people wouldn't willingly share their hangups with a national audience. This opens up another vein for these shows to thrive.

Take a group of people who have nothing in common but a shared obsession with "making it" in Hollywood. Lock them in a house and promise the winner a multi-million dollar movie contract. Outside of violence, the contestants are allowed to do anything to expel other members form the show. The fun starts when the claws come out. Literally. On the third episode, the producers drop a rescued and starving cougar into the house. As the contestants try to beat back the hungry predator, they are forced to confront their deepest desires. The contestant that doesn't have his or her face torn off then wins the show.

For the grand prize, the winner gets a cameo in Gwyneth Paltrow's new music video. They also get a lifetime supply of Alpo dog food.

Swan Song

Since reality tv does, indeed, suck proverbial and literal ass (don't ask), things must, inevitably, indubitably, and most certainly, categorically, turn to the pretentious Oscar race. And no, you uninitiated goslings, that isn't referring to Seseme Street or Blue Valentine's forlorn lover (which won't win best pic, unless William's real-life hubby comes back to scare up some support with his demonic cachinnations). In the spirit of this yearly Oscar column, I've pulled out the thesaurus and am going to go Whitman on your asses.

On second thought. F*** that. I'm tired of this pretentious bullshit, and I'm running out of wit like Mel is friends. Ten films to cover just to get a best picture nod? That is a lot of time. In fact, if taking a really long shit took me like 30 minutes, that would be like 50 good stall visits. Literally, I would have to flush like 50 good boughts of flatulence and Maxim down the proverbial toilet to deal with this stuck up shit. But if I don't, God forbid, your pretentious asses will be stringing me up for being some philistine. So let's find some common ground, so I can get back to taking my number two in peace, kapice?

Alright, I just got back from the jon with an idea... let's condense them all. Boil em down to the basics and get this shit over with. Alright... so let's list a handful. No one is going to see the King's Speech, so that is a goner. Alright... Black Swan. Lesbians, spandex, insanity... but lots of pretentious gobly gook. So let's take the whole insanity bit. The Fighter, well throw a boxer in. The Town... Boston, robbery, blah blah. True Grit, little girl on the war path. Inception.. you all seen that anyway, so let's just go with it. Oh yeah, and anyone knows that Jesse Eisenberg made The Social Wetwork, so let's miscast him as the lead. Sure. Fine. I'm getting tired. So get a pot, toss em together... hmm. Alright. So Jesse Eisenberg stars as a former child boxer who wants to rob Fenway Park to get enough money to relaunch his boxing career. But before the robbery can afford to go south, Eisenberg starts thinking this new girl, played by Mila Kunis, on his crew is making a play for leading the boys. As his sanity wanes, the action shifts to an alcoholic local sheriff who befriends a small girl who claims Eisenberg broke into her gambling addict father's dreams to get a hot tip on that weekend's Sox/Yankees match. Well, the movie ends with Eisenberg losing his arm in the attack, and watching Mark Walberg and Mila Kunis walking into the sunset, as Max Payne theme music plays.

Alright, well that is one Oscar Worthy film. Got the drama, romance, cliches and pretentious crap that makes us all love this bullshit. And it isn't reality tv, which is a f****** blessing. Alright, gotta get back to taking a shit.

Double D&Ds

Well, I'm fresh back from anger management and, strangely enough, have a newfound appreciation for the perfect blend of pharmaceuticals. In fact, taking the blue pill twenty minutes after the green has this strange effect of putting me in a f****** gregarious mood. These doctor octos or whatever the f*** keep telling me this shit will mess with my sex drive, but no sir, it does the opposite. And I'm telling you, when I've got to beat the war drum, I need a bit more than what reality tv is pushing. C'mon. Dumbasses on the Jersey shore? I could find a caravan of bimbos at the local fair. Real sexy? Now that takes skill. And a will to thrill. Real sexy is about defying standards. So when we talk nerdy girls, I'm not talking some calculator dweeb discovering the finer art of curves. I'm talking taking the dweeb and making her into a fairytale princess. Or a slut. Pick your reality poison.

Coming this spring, to Fox naturally, is this show about a group of sexy supermodels dropped into this dungeon, and forced to play this game all you little bastards call D&D. Things, of course, don't go to plan. There is lots of crying. Whining. Flirting with roleplaying dweebs, all for the American Dream of winning a Jeep Wrangler: Black Ops Edition vehicle. Nice product placement Fox, classic shit. The point of this show is to make beautiful women be brought low... make them stoop to nerdom. Then, for a second, have them like it. Naturally, if and when this happens, vote their spoiled ass off the show. Classic pump and dump, as Patty Hewes would say bitches.

Roleplaying and supermodels is the perfect pitch for a reality show because it already works. Look at Emma Watson. Well, now that she is legal, she is kinda sexy. Before, if you said that, the party van would be on its way. Point is, if you find a sexy girl, put her in some roleplaying/fantasy shit, the fanboys will go ape shit. And so will the nerd girls. But this demographic, not enough to pull of a good enough 18/49. Bullshit, I know, but those are the cold hard facts. So, remember this one... get a little teen drama in there. Two of the girls actually fall for this dweeb because he was sensitive enough to loan both of them a mace +1 to attack this goblin. And both, umm, reciprocated in scenes with plenty of pixelation and magic missiles flying. From this, the classic love triangle and plenty of on-screen bitching. And when nerd supermodels fight, the magical weapons fly... and so does the mid-eval clothing. Woot.

So the title of the show, Double D&Ds. I know, misogynistic. And, mind you, guaranteed to get all you offended people to tune in just to be outraged. And in your outrage, you bitches better be watching those Jeep Wrangler: Black Ops Edition commercials. You know it.

Next time I'm back on here, I'll be swearing more and less inclined to talk about women or roleplaying. Usually I'm angry. But I feel so happy on these meds, I could marry a cat and canary right now. Thanks a bunch losers, and don't break the internet looking for pics of women riding the dragon. Perverts.